


a small price

by v3ilfire



Series: i fought the war, but the war won [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s just go home,” she said through clenched teeth, but within taking three steps she realized that Carver wasn’t following. She turned to find him moored to the same spot he’d stopped in, unresponsive to her expectant stare.<br/>“I’m going back. Being a soldier is the only damn thing I’ve ever been good at.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They’d been running for what felt like hours, though judging by how dense the smoke and the scent of death and Darkspawn taint was, it didn’t even matter. Nothing mattered. They just had to keep heading north and maybe, maybe they’d make it out of this in less than several pieces, which seemed to be the most promising conclusion to this sorry escape.

“Stop!” Carver yelled, slowing. Hesta spun around - too fast, the world spun past her - and stared at her brother.   
“Unless you’re _literally_ on fire or being eaten by a Genlock, we don’t have time.”   
“Why did you -- why did you _do_ that?” Hesta blinked, having clearly no idea where his accusatory tone was coming from. “Those were my friends and you - you pulled me away! My only friends and now they’re _dead_!”   
“You’d be dead, too, if I didn’t. I bet they’re looking down at you from the Fade right now and wishing _they_ had a charming older sister who leapt through _fire and Darkspawn_ to yank them out of battle.” Carver’s humorless laugh filled the clearing where the caterwaul of war didn’t. She’d preferred the eye-roll she usually got when he forgot to think her jokes were funny.   
“This is just like you, you know. This was the one time I could get away from living in your and Bethany’s shadow and make my own way, and you had to follow me. Did you get bored being the favorites? Or did Mother not coddle you like Father did?”

Hesta dragged her hand down her face, smearing the blood still leaking from her temple in the process. Between her pounding headache, the clamor of battle still too close behind them, and the generally imminent threat of death and dismemberment, she was in no mood for the sad middle child act.   
“This isn’t the best time, Carver.”   
“Who cares? We’re going to die anyway! At least back there I would have died fighting with my friends. For Ferelden! And now I’m going to die a coward, because _you_ had to play the hero!”   
“ _Play the hero_?” she echoed, appalled. “At least I’m not trying to be a _martyr_. Loghain betrayed us, the Wardens are dead. We have to get our family and run as far away as we can. Father said -”   
“Don’t - don’t you quote Father of all people to _me_ , Sister.”   
“We must stick together, or we die. I followed you here because I knew you were going to get yourself into trouble.”   
“It wasn’t enough for you, being the better fighter at home? You had to show me up here, too? For your information, if there was trouble, I always got _myself_ out.” Hesta scowled, the scar on her jaw still searing and raw and ready to prove otherwise, but she bit her tongue. She’d spent too much effort preserving his pride over that incident, among others, to ruin it.

“Let’s just go home,” she said through clenched teeth, but within taking three steps she realized that Carver wasn’t following. She turned to find him moored to the same spot he’d stopped in, unresponsive to her expectant stare.   
“I’m going back. Being a soldier is the only damn thing I’ve ever been good at.”  
“You go back there, all you’ll be is dead.”   
“Better than a coward.” He turned, but had taken a second too long to gather his resolve; Before he even lifted his foot, his sister had him by the arm. “Let me go!”   
“I will not be the one to tell Mother she’s lost her only son!”   
“Fuck off!”

Carver wrung his arm free, but Hesta was not quite so gentle in stopping him a second time. Her punch knocked him flat on his ass, and would more than likely leave a black eye later; she reckoned it would be far easier to explain than coming home empty-handed. Her mother would be blameless in never forgiving her for that. She wouldn’t forgive herself, either.

“You either come with me,” she said, her voice too low to give away how badly it shook, “or I knock you out and sling you over my shoulder.”

Begrudgingly, Carver complied. He pulled himself to his feet and marched past Hesta, though not before glaring pointedly in her direction.   
“I won’t forget this, Sister,” he said as he moved past her, the last word a curse spat at her feet. The elder Hawke let him several steps ahead before following, knowing full well that bearing the boy’s hatred was a small price to pay for his life. The daggers on her back were just as heavy of a burden as the first time her father handed them to her.

They would only grow heavier.


	2. part 2

They heard the Ogre before they saw it. Hesta pushed her mother out of the way, yelling for Aveline as she rushed to head off her siblings, daggers poised and ready to defend them from whatever shook the earth in its approach. Bethany took an instinctive step back just before the monster’s horns breached the edge of the hilltop. There was an irony in hearing a Templar curse.

The creature charged towards them and Hesta's heel dug into the dusty ground.   
"Carver," she said. "Get back." 

She turned her head  _just_ enough to meet her brother's wide-eyed stare, and there was a moment of perfect stillness just before his words were lost to the Darkspawn's screech and his arm hooked around her waist. Hesta was thrown to the ground, but Aveline wasn't quick enough to get her back on her feet. 

She remembered nothing after Carver's blood splashed across her chest. Fear took over in a freezing rush, and she found herself limping over to where her mother was sobbing over a body.   
"Carver! Wake up! The battle's over, we're fine!" _Just_ _a_ _body_ , Hesta told herself.   _Don't cry, Mother, t_ _hat isn't Carver. It's just a body._    
"I'm sorry, Mistress," Aveline said. "Your son is gone." Hesta knelt down next to the boy with her father's eyes, who was too still and quiet to be her shit little brother. The world had gone still around her once more as she sat, unshaken until her mother's sobs began to render the woman breathless.   
"H-how could you let him charge off like that?" she heaved. "He was your little  _brother_! My little boy!"   
"Come, Mother," Bethany said, voice wavering. "We shouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain."   
"Allow me to commend your son's soul to the Maker," said Wesley. Hesta turned her tired eyes towards the Templar as he bent his head in prayer. 

She never liked the Chant.

* * *

Hesta had her arms wrapped about herself on the deck of the ship, but the sun was still only a sliver on the horizon and nights on the sea were cold and cruel. Aveline had just taken up watch downstairs, alive and well if a little shaken. Her mother, too, was safe and sound, asleep by virtue of exhaustion and curled against Bethany. And Carver, he -- 

He lay motionless and pale against a rock outside of Lothering, his skull cracked and seeping blood into the soil.

The day hit her all at once, then. The darkspawn, the dragon, the way the beast lifted her brother high into the air like he was  _nothing_ and smashed him into the ground like he was even less. The way Carver's hand still gripped his sword, even in death, the way he stared at her before he shoved her out of the way. 

And she remembered, suddenly, what he'd said. She did not need to hear the words to know them.   
 _"I'm sorry, Sister."_  

Her sobs shook her body until she fell to her knees. The scar on her jaw ached with every gasp; the last hit she ever took for him. It shouldn't have been.

In the darkness, she clamped her hand over her mouth. It would do the other refugees no good to hear her cry.

 

 


End file.
